


I'm gonna find my way (home)

by noascrown



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Reggie (Julie and The Phantoms), Fatherly Ray Molina, Found Family, Friendship Bracelets, Gen, Reggie deserves love, Reggie is attached to his flannel, Reggie-centric, Sunset Curve as Family, The Molinas adopt Reggie, Why Reggie likes country music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26555761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noascrown/pseuds/noascrown
Summary: Reggie had a complicated relationship with love. His parents lost it a long time ago. His friends—well, he didn't have any friends. He had been chasing what was in the country songs and the fairy tales his whole life, even if he wasn't sure it existed. Reggie was looking for people to love him.
Relationships: Alex & Julie Molina & Luke Patterson & Reggie, Alex & Luke Patterson & Reggie (Julie and The Phantoms), Julie Molina & Reggie, Luke Patterson/Reggie (Julie and The Phantoms), Ray Molina & Reggie
Comments: 50
Kudos: 786





	1. Chapter 1

LA 1982, age 4

The first fight Reggie could remember was when he was four years old. He could still see it: the little apartment, the scratchy old carpet, the blue toy truck. Little Reggie, playing happily on the living room floor, rolling the truck back and forth and making the noises real quietly so as not to disturb Mommy in the kitchen. (She was sad today.)

The front door slamming startled him, and the little truck put on its brakes.

"I'm home!" Daddy called, hanging his coat up on the hook.

Reggie went back to playing, imagining the truck on a pro racetrack, wheels screeching on the turns.

"About time," called Mommy from the kitchen, and she stormed out, hands on her hips. "How late d'you have to stay at work on a weekend, huh?"

"I told you, we're close to letting them give us a bigger budget—”

"And you couldn't even call to let us know. Reggie and I have been waiting to eat dinner until you got back. I had to put the casserole back in the oven to keep it warm!”

"The casserole," huffed Daddy. "I'm out working every day to put food on the table at all, and you complain that your casserole got cold? Come on, Susie—”

"Damn right, because it wouldn't be cold if—”

Reggie's truck noises got louder and he imagined the racetrack being real long, so if you drove far down it you wouldn't be able to hear anyone else way back at the start. His face buzzed when he made the loud motor sounds, and it felt funny.

"—And when you don't call, how do I know you're even at work anyway? You could just as easily be off in the next town—”

"Don't even start—”

The truck noises filled Reggie's ears and he still went louder. The race track was a road now, like the one outside, with the yellow lines in the middle. But longer, so long you could keep driving the truck straight down for ever and ever and--

"We have a child, Ed, and you're barely home enough to speak to him!”

"And maybe he isn't mine, huh? Look at him!”

“How dare you—”

Reggie's blue truck was the loudest truck he'd ever heard, and it kept driving.

\--

LA 1988, age 9

Reggie was nine when he had his first crush. Lydie Ackles’ braids would swing back and forth when she ran across the playground, and he liked the way the ribbons matched her eyes. She was so smart; she always aced the spelling tests. And spelling was hard.

She had so many friends. He wasn't one of them. He knew that; he didn't really have any friends. But Lydie was popular. She always wore pretty clothes and knew fun games to play with lots of people. Reggie would sit at the side of the field and watch, like watching football, secretly cheering for the nicer kids and trying to pick up on the rules that he hadn't heard. Sometimes he would whisper commentary like a sports announcer. "Anna's taken off! No one can catch her now—oh! Brandon's caught her! It's back to the starting line for poor Anna...." He wasn't very good, but it made him feel like he had a reason to be left out: who else would narrate the game?

Other days, he'd get lucky, and make it to the swings before anyone else. He liked the swing on the edge of the playground, because the chain was a little longer and he could drag his feet through the wood chips on every swing.

It was warm out, and Reggie was swinging low on the swing, kicking up wood chips. He was going to get so many in his shoes; but a bit of a mess was the whole point.

But then Lydie walked over, and stood in front of him, hands on her hips.

Reggie stopped swinging. "Hi?" he said.

Lydie stepped purposefully forward and laid a loud kiss on his lips. 

Reggie's eyes went wide and he stumbled back. Lydie Ackles had just kissed him. He could feel his cheeks burning. A kiss? Kisses were gross. But they meant you liked someone. Did she like him too?

She paused. She blinked.

He opened his mouth to say something.

And then she ran away, laughing loudly, braids swinging behind her. Back to the field where her big group of friends were all laughing, too. "I did it, see!" she cried. "Now it's your turn for a dare!"

A dare. Reggie flushed even deeper red, and kicked a hole into the woodchips below him. A dare. "Kiss Reggie I dare you." She had probably been out of free passes in their dare game. She had probably protested for a whole minute. He had watched them play it enough to know. "Reggie, but he's so gross. Pick someone else." That was what she must have said.

He could still hear them laughing. He tugged his jacket tight around his shoulders and ran from the playground.

\--

LA 1992, age 14

Reggie hated his bedroom. It was small, and dark, and the carpet was ugly, but he didn't care much about any of those things. He hated his bedroom because it was in his house.

The walls were thin enough to hear the yelling from the living room. Or from the master bedroom, or from the bathroom, or the kitchen. Reggie heard it every day, and it only made him feel a little bit sick, now. He’d plug in his bass guitar and try to learn a new song as loudly as possible. At least then, his parents would be on the same side when they both yelled at him to keep the volume down.

But other days, everything was already too loud. He’d sit on his bed and fake like there wasn't a lump in his throat and wish he had a friend he could call.

He didn't have a friend. But he had George Strait, and Vince Gill, and Brooks and Dunn. He had songs that weren't the same rockstar stuff he always played, but that made him feel better. Sure, his parents were arguing, and sure, they screamed his name like a weapon: "You don't even care what happens to Reggie!" "Reggie deserves a parent who can provide for him!" "He deserves love!" "I've loved Reggie like my own, but you're too scared to prove he's mine—" "Oh, this again—" "'Cause you know the DNA would say he's just a ba—" "Shut your mouth!"

Yeah, sure, things sucked. But at least Reggie had country music. He had lines about loving your horse with your whole heart, and feeling at home in your pickup truck, and dedicating your life to the pretty country girl down the road. Songs about loving your mama and missing your hometown.

It was dumb, and he told himself that over and over, but in country songs, people cared.

So Reggie sat in that awful bedroom with the ugly carpet, and pretended he had cowboy boots on, and his biggest problem was asking the sweet neighbor girl with the beautiful roan horse to be his date to the rodeo.

"And will you pay for Reggie's therapy bills, when he decides he needs help fixing the damage you did?" came the scream. Reggie slowly covered his ears and pretended his cowboy boots were the best ones around for miles.

\--

LA 1993, age 15

The high school building was big, and cold, and smelled weird. The teachers always left the air on, which made them all shiver, but it couldn't do anything to help with the overwhelming stench of BO that always hung in the hallways. That is, except for the days when it smelled like Lysol and chemicals, because some lucky janitor had been deep cleaning.

Those were the things Reggie remembered about high school. His mom would say things like, "isn’t it nice to see your friends?" and "you must be learning so much." But he wasn't learning anything except that the football boys were good at catcalling and even better at mocking. He was learning to avoid them. He spent lunches in the band room, sitting in the corner away from the excitable brass players and picking out melodies on a school guitar.

Until he started learning something else.

There was a new kid in his Spanish class. Reggie noticed right away—he hated Spanish, and spent most of the time staring around the room at the others.

The new kid was staring off into the distance, and moving his head like he was listening to music—but he clearly wasn’t.

Reggie frowned, looking him up and down.

The kid wore a sleeveless blue hoodie and had that same shaggy hairstyle as the popular boys. (Reggie couldn’t imagine styling his hair like that, not when he could wear it up and show off his pretty face. And speaking of pretty faces….) The new boy’s face was nice. Symmetrical. He had soft eyes, even when they were bored and unfocused. And he was mouthing the words to something. What was it with this guy and music?

“Luke,” called Mrs Rasmussen, and the new kid snapped back into focus. “Why don't you come and show us your process on the board?” she said, motioning to the front of the class.

Luke. So that was his name.

“Uh.” Luke scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “I didn't finish the problem. I did the factoring part, and then….”

Mrs Rasmussen arched an eyebrow. “Then you just decided to sit still and not try the rest of it?”

“I didn't get it,” said Luke, grimacing with embarrassment. “Maybe ‘cause I missed the other lessons….”

“That’s why we ask questions, Lucas,” she said.

The football boys snickered. Reggie subtly glared at them.

“Sorry, miss.”

“It's Mrs Rasmussen,” she corrected sharply, and turned to call on a different student.

Reggie leaned over and tapped Luke on the shoulder. “Hey,” he whispered, “I didn't get it either. Glad she didn't call on me.”

Luke chuckled softly. He had a pretty smile. “Do you have the notes for this stuff? We could figure it out together.”

“Yeah,” said Reggie, feeling a smile creep up his face. “Wanna copy them after class?”

Luke nodded, and turned back to the front of the class just as Mrs Rasmussen looked back their way.

\--

There were never any quiet places at the school. And Luke said they may as well take their time actually figuring the stuff out, “like a study group or some crap.” So they ended up at Reggie’s house. Neither of his parents were home, which made Reggie sigh in relief—no angry adults to walk through on the way up to his room.

His room was a mess, he remembered too late. Clothes on the floor, and printouts of guitar chords all over his bed, next to his poor guitar herself, who he never managed to treat as well as his bass.

Like glanced around, and grinned. “Looks like my room,” he said. He motioned to the instrument. “You play?”

“A little,” Reggie said, shrugging. (It was more than a little.) “Guitar and bass. And I sing sometimes. I’m surprisingly good at country.”

Like scoffed at that. “Only rock for me. I sing and play guitar, too.”

“We should start a band,” Reggie joked.

Like raised his eyebrows. “If only we had a drummer. Maybe another guitar.”

Reggie laughed. “My parents are mad enough about my grades.”

“Ah, right. Maybe we should get to math.” Luke dropped his backpack by the door, dragging out the huge textbook Mrs Rasmussen had given them. He looked at it, shaking his head. “That… stuff.”

Reggie threw his own book onto the bed, along with his notes. “Math is the devilll,” he sang in the roughest rock voice he could muster.

Luke laughed.

\--

It wasn't until later, when the boy had gone home, and Reggie’s parents were back downstairs—arguing again, as always—that he thought it clearly.

Luke was attractive. A pretty boy with music talents and a hatred of math. A smile that made Reggie smile, too.

It felt like having a crush on a girl, how much he liked the guy. A bromance or whatever.

Maybe an actual crush.

Reggie pushed the thought away as soon as he had it. That wasn't possible. He liked girls. 

He knew firsthand how hard it was to find a happily ever after. And absolutely none of the fairy tale stories ended with two princes in the castle. That was okay, because Reggie liked princesses. And he was looking for true love.

So he definitely didn’t have a crush on Luke. And he wouldn't. They would do study sessions, and bro out over music. Maybe actually form a band. And he would still find happily ever after.

\--

LA 1994, age 16

Reggie’s band didn’t write love songs. The group was only two days old, and they’d already decided, that wasn’t their style.

Reggie was secretly disappointed. He knew songs about “forever” and “perfect” and “always” weren’t always true; but he liked to imagine that they were. Love songs were promises, and he knew you couldn’t always keep them, but if he sang one, he could imagine that you could. That they were in a world where that was easy—where you could bump into someone on the street and say everything right and suddenly have a partner who would never forget how to love you.

But he loved the band, and he loved the music. He was sticking around even if they never sang a single romantic word.

So he sat on the floor in the studio, head back against the couch and humming a melody that he thought would go so nice with a love song. He was only half listening to the other boys’ conversation.

“We’re not calling ourselves ‘Daddy Issues,’” said Luke exasperatedly. “That’s worse than ‘Rockstarry.’”

“Hey, don’t diss my mom’s idea,” Bobby said.

Reggie sighed, shifting forward. “The Cowboys,” he tried.

“No.”

“Al...Lu...Re-Bob,” Alex improvised, flipping a drumstick absentmindedly through his fingers.

“Are you even trying?” Luke sighed, falling back into the couch. “I just want this to be perfect. Music’s supposed to make you feel something. Our name should do that, too.”

What else made Reggie feel something? He thought about the beach outside his house, and how it was dark when he snuck out in the evenings, looking for a quiet place. How everything settled a little bit when the sun went down. “Sunset,” he said slowly. 

“Sunset?”

“Sunset….” The way the horizon went all orange over the ocean, and if you looked out far, it wasn’t straight at all. “Curve,” Reggie finished.

Silence.

Then, “you know, Reginald,” said Luke. “That ain’t bad.”

“It’s like, the highway at night,” said Alex. Sure.

“Sounds kinda poetic,” Bobby added. “Or dramatic, even. ‘Sunset Curve.’”

“I like it!” said Alex, and drummed a quick rhythm on the concrete floor. “‘Sunset Curve,’” he sang.

Luke laughed, and shook Reggie by the shoulders. “Yo, this could actually work!”

Reggie laughed a little, too, a smile appearing on his face.

The boys were already repeating the name, trying to get used to the feeling and see if it sounded like them. Reggie jumped up next to them, and whooped, and said it too. 

“Sunset Curve!”

“Curvy sunset, Sunset Curve.”

“Sunset Curve. Sun’s setting on the curve. A sunset!”

“A curve!”

The neighbors must have thought they were crazy, screaming the same nonsense words in a loop. But the band didn’t care. Reggie yelled them out again and again, until they stopped feeling like a phrase and started feeling like the name of his family.

That garage and that music belonged to Sunset Curve, and Sunset Curve belonged to him. He was home.

“Sunset!” he cried.

“Curve!”

\--

LA 1995, age 17

"Live it like it's now or never  
It's now or never

"Now or never!" Reggie sang, and felt the last chords of the song through his whole body. The Orpheum crew gave a few scattered cheers, and he bowed with the other boys. Smoke still hung in the air, and he was drenched in sweat; to say the stage lights were uncomfortably hot would be an understatement. But it was the Orpheum. They could be tiny suns and he would still sell his whole family to play under them for one night.

One particularly beautiful girl gave an extra whoop and kept clapping. “Yeah!”

“Thank you, we’re Sunset Curve,” Reggie said into his mic, catching her eye. And he winked. She went back to wiping down the bar, and he was already turning to grab a t-shirt and a demo to give her, just to show off his generosity.

“Too bad we wasted that on the soundcheck,” Bobby was saying, grabbing a towel, “that was the tightest we ever played.”

“Oh, wait until tonight, man, when this place gets packed with record execs!” Luke was still bouncing, his adrenaline on a high just like the rest of the band.

Reggie felt invincible. He stepped up behind Alex, holding the merch and grinning. “Alex, you were smokin’.”

“Oh, nah,” said Alex, ever humble. “I was just warming up, you guys were the ones on fire.”

Reggie gave him a look. “Could you just own your awesomeness for once?”

A pause, and raised eyebrows from the other boys, and finally Alex gave in. “Alright, I was killing it,” he said, breaking into a smile.

Reggie went for a half-hug, knowing that was right. This whole night was already the best one of his life; he felt like he was floating.

“Okay, I’m thinking we fuel up before the show,” said Luke. “I’m thinking street dogs.”

“Ooh,” said Reggie approvingly, as Alex gave a “yes!”

But Bobby was already jumping down from the stage, on his way to talk to their beautiful new fan. Nuh-uh, no chance. Reggie quickly followed.

“Hey, Bobby, where you goin’?” Luke asked, hurrying up. Not him, too.

“I’m good,” said Bobby. He turned to the girl, shrugging casually. “Vegetarian, I could never hurt an animal.”

Liar.

“You guys are really good,” said the girl, and even her accent was beautiful.

“Thank you,” Luke said before Reggie could, and gave that damn charming smile. Bobby’s expression grew more annoyed.

“I see a lot of bands,” she said. “Been in a couple myself. I was really feeling it.”

“That’s what we do this for,” Luke replied. “I’m Luke, by the way.”

Not so fast. “Hi, I’m Reggie,” Reggie said hurriedly, giving a smile.

“Alex.”

“Bobby,” Bobby finished, not to be skipped over.

“Nice meeting you guys,” she said, pretending not to notice as Luke gave Bobby a wet willy and he smacked his hand away.

Now was his chance. “Oh, uh—” Reggie pretended to remember what he was holding, handing it over. “Here’s our demo. And a t-shirt, size… beautiful.” That was smooth. Very smooth.

She held it up to her chest, smiling. “Thanks.” And threw it over her shoulder. “I’ll make sure not to wipe the tables down with this one.”

“Oh, good call,” said Alex, “whenever they get wet, they just kind of… fall apart in your hands.”

Damn Alex and his utter lack of wingman ability.

“Don’t you guys have to go get hot dogs?” Bobby asked pointedly.

Well, if they were out, so was he. “Yeah,” said Luke. And, leaning in, “he had a hamburger for lunch.”

And they bounced away, giving Bobby shoves and leaving him to cover his lie.

Reggie didn’t forget to slide two more t-shirts into his backpack as they headed for the stage door—just in case he had to charm another fan.

They were on their way to famous, and that meant more opportunities at every turn to find a little love. 

\--

LA 2020, age 17 (dead)

It was quiet in the garage when none of the other boys or Julie were there. Usually, Reggie sat slouched on the couch, strumming absentmindedly on his bass.

Alex had gone out with Willie. Luke was at his parents’.

Reggie remembered the bike shack where his house used to be and wondered where his family had gone.

The others were always talking about their parents. Luke would sit on his parents’ coffee table and watch them and cry and say his only regret was what he did to his mom. Sweet Emily, but she hadn't liked the idea of pursuing music. And Julie was always telling some story or another about her mom. A dahlia was her favorite flower, she once played in her own band, she’d taught Julie to play the piano when she was only a very little girl.

Alex wouldn't gush about his parents the same way, but you could see him looking sad when they talked about it. Reggie knew he’d always blamed himself for messing up their relationship, which was stupid, because he couldn't help being gay. His parents were so close-minded, and if Reggie was a parent, he wouldn't act like that. But wherever his parents were now, Alex had Willie to hang out with. And he was always out with him. Learning to skate, or breaking in places, or whatever those two did.

Reggie didn't have his own Willie. When the others were out… he didn't have anybody.

So it shouldn't have been a surprise that he went back to the house looking for company.

With Carlos and Julie at school, Ray was alone in the living room, on his computer. Reggie remembered when the man had walked through him in the garage—he had a good heart. That's who he wanted to hang out with. So Reggie fell onto the couch beside Ray, with a casual “hey” like they were friends, and looked over his shoulder. There, a video editing program was open.

Ray was laser-focused on it, playing through clips and carefully cutting them just right.

“That looks awesome, Ray,” said Reggie, even though he knew the man couldn't hear him. “Pretty shots of the skyline. Did you take them?”

Ray didn't answer. Reggie pretended he had.

“Wow, a whole family full of talent,” Reggie said, forcing a laugh.

Ray played through a newly edited clip again and smiled. “Yess,” he whispered to himself, doing a little happy dance right there on the couch.

Reggie grinned. “A man with a happy dance. That’s my kind of guy.” He followed suit with his own dance moves.

Ray laughed happily, and Reggie pretended he had made it happen.

“Thank you, thank you,” he said, bowing a little.

And when Ray, smiling, went on to the next part of the video, Reggie felt something warm in his chest. He settled down next to Ray, and pretended for a second that his dad, his best friend, was letting him hang out with him while he worked, just ‘cause he'd had a bad day.

“Yo, let me know if you need any help,” Reggie said.

He imagined that Ray answered: “Alright, kid,” and ruffled his hair he’d spent so long fixing.

Reggie gasped, pretending he was mad, and hurriedly smoothed it down again, and leaned back onto his dad’s shoulder.

\--

Ray liked to experiment with sandwich ingredients when no one was around to judge him. He would try apple slices in his turkey sandwich, or bacon in his PB&J, or just put ranch all over something. Reggie approved of that. A little creativity, a little adventure never hurt anyone.

Reggie would move things to more convenient places or open jars for him when he wasn't looking. If he was there, he might as well help out. It was the only way he could interact with Ray anyway.

Once, he was a little too helpful. He jumped when Ray turned around, and the lid of the peanut butter jar rolled away on the counter on its own.

Ray blinked, staring. “Uh, Julie? Carlos?” he called, even though that didn't make any sense.

Reggie carefully stopped the lid, and let it fall flat. He felt like he'd been caught sneaking out, or something. "Sorry," he whispered, though Ray couldn't hear him.

Ray stepped over, and looked down at the open peanut butter jar. "That had to have been screwed on," he muttered. He turned it over in his hands. “Ah, whoever opened this, thanks? That was… helpful." He paused, then gave an awkward laugh and shook his head. “Yeah, I'm going crazy.”

A beat. As the man turned back to his sandwich, Reggie stood still, watching. "You're welcome," he said finally. “...Dad.”

It's not like anyone could hear him say it, whenever he did. It was just like playing a game, Reggie told himself. It didn't mean anything. So Ray was his favorite person to hang out with, so what. So it was better to be ignored by Ray than to hang out with his real dad, trying too hard to bond with him because he'd made some kind of dumb promise to Mom. So Reggie wished, just a little, that he'd grown up in one of the bedrooms upstairs. So what.

It was just a game.

\--

LA 2020, age 17 (dead)

The Hollywood Ghost Club was creepy—that was Reggie’s first thought. Undead people wandering across the red carpet, all dressed better than Reggie ever had been. But Willie casually poofed around and slid down the banister in his flame-patterned socks, like he owned the place.

And Reggie couldn’t stop looking at it all. The place glittered with sequins and champagne glasses and chandelier crystals. The lifers wore tuxedos and evening dresses like a uniform, and walked through resident ghosts without so much as a shiver. They sat at the reserved table, where even the tablecloth was ridiculously soft. It was all kinda magical.

Then, “Ladies and gentlemen, back from the dead by popular demand… Caleb Covington!”

There, hanging in the air, was a man in purple velvet and a heavy cape. “Did you miss me?” he asked, holding out his hands. Wild cheers met him. “I did too!” He grinned. “Welcome to the party of your dreams. From the Egyptians to the Druids to the person sitting next to you, we’ve all wondered… where do we go when that final light is snuffed out?”

Reggie glanced at the boys sitting next to him. He had wondered, often. Is there a heaven? Is heaven like home? Did Caleb have the answers?

“Allow me to show you.”

And the music started. 

They were captivated as Caleb sang, the purple underside of his cape sparkling as much as the stars on the ceiling. And then the chorus hit and all the color poofed in at once. A jazz band in red flapper dresses, and dancers with huge purple feather fans. Reggie jumped, lighting up as they sang and played. 

Caleb danced across the floor among twirling servers clad in pink suits, and stepped right up to their table. A flamboyant fwoosh of the tablecloth, and underneath was a glittering dancer with a pink feather boa. She spun and danced right on the table, somehow never slipping with her pink heels on metal. And then she was looking at Reggie. She twirled and kicked a sparkling foot right in his face.

Reggie was stunned as she swung off the table and kept dancing. She’d been looking at him. She’d been flirting with him. That was rare enough, besides her being ridiculously beautiful.

He was beginning to like the Ghost Club.

As the night went on, Caleb threw gifts at them like confetti. Junk food that ghosts could eat. Friendly lifers that could see them (even if they did spoil Star Wars). Music just for them, in the front row. A job offer, even. And simply, attention from everyone—a wink, a wave, a smile, all of which, if Reggie was being honest, he had missed. He never wanted to leave.

“Welcome to the brotherhood, where you won’t be misunderstood,” he found himself singing more than once.

Caleb introduced them to the dancers in blue and purple, who led them through a dance as the jazz music played on.

Reggie learned that this dancer’s name was Ruby, and she was really talented, and she had a really happy laugh. When the music started again, he took the chance to call it a slow dance (even if no one else was), and he learned that she had very pretty eyes.

Too soon, Luke grabbed him by the shoulder, yelling, “dude! We lost track of time!”

“Not right now, man!” Reggie answered. This was his and Ruby’s moment. The magic ball where time slows down.

He felt arms around his waist, and Luke lifted him up—”Reggie!”

“Okay! What the—?”

“We were supposed to be at Julie’s school at nine!”

Reggie snapped back into reality, his eyes widening. “Oh, shoot, that’s right.” They had promised Julie. “Maybe we can still make it.” But they had to go now. 

The boys hurried out of the club with their things in hand, having forgotten every sparkling thing and remembered their promise to their family. They rushed through goodbyes with Caleb, as he gave them a last gift of a purple stamp.

A souvenir. A membership, of a sorts. Reggie liked that, liked to know he was part of something.

As they left the club and poofed away, Reggie pushed away the feeling that he’d missed another chance to find someone who loved him.

He already had people who loved him. And he had promises to keep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! finally!! I am a serial procrastinator, I have no excuse.  
> These scenes are chronological and follow right after the first part. I'm saying that nothing changes after the Orpheum except that Julie can touch the boys. Changed rating for a couple swears.  
> Hope you like it! :)

LA 2020, age 17 (dead)

Julie was in big trouble. Grounded, snuck out, caught. Reggie knew what that felt like—he’d snuck out of his house nearly every night. So he knew Ray wasn’t gonna be happy. That was just how it was.

The boys sat in the living room, waiting for Julie to come out from being scolded, the way family waits in a hospital waiting room for the news. The light was off; Carlos was walking blindly around the room, scanning for ghosts on some app that had cheated him out of his money. He’d looked over the couch twice now and hadn’t seen any sign of the three resident ghosts. Reggie was secretly rooting for him to find them.

“Gotcha!” said Carlos, and then the light flicked on.

It was tía Victoria, a disapproving look on her face. “Oh! For the last time, mijo, ghosts are not real!”

Reggie frowned, shaking his head as she and Carlos continued to talk. “Typical adult,” he said. Adults never listened. He turned to the others. “Hey, do you remember when we were kids, and they never believed what we said?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s just a you thing,” said Alex. “I was always pretty trustworthy.”

What? Reggie was trustworthy. His parents just… didn’t trust him.

“Shouldn’t we be more worried about Julie?” Luke cut in, predictably. “Her dad just busted her, okay, he’s probably making her quit the band.”

Ha. Reggie knew there was no way around it when parents were mad. He shrugged. “There’s not much we can do about that now,” he said. “But we can still help Carlos.” He looked back at the kid, who was still vehemently debating the existence of ghosts with his aunt. “Adults not believing children ends tonight.” A grin appeared on his face. “Showtime.”

Click. He put out the lamp.

The lifers stopped talking and looked over. Carlos lit up. “Ghosts aren’t real, huh? How do you explain that?” he said.

“Light bulbs burn out all the time, Carlos,” said his tía with a nervous laugh.

“Ooh, wrong answer, tía,” said Reggie. He stood from the arm of the chair, already having fun. He moved to the window. “Explain… this.” 

The blind slats flashed open and closed, open and closed, to the eyes of the lifers.

Tía Victoria gasped and took Carlos by the shoulders.

“Maybe it’s my mom!” said Carlos, eyes wide. “She knows I haven’t been replacing the toilet paper!”

“Your Mamá would never scare us like this,” said tía Victoria, panic in her voice. “This is the work of a demon!”

Reggie stopped, his smile falling. He wasn’t a demon. “Hey,” he said, “words hurt.”

“Wait!” said Carlos. “I gotta get it on video.” He hurriedly swiped through his app, looking for the camera.

“Yeah, you do,” said Reggie, smirking. Proof like that would make everyone believe the kid. “Time for an old classic.” He leaned down and pulled a white sheet from the laundry basket, throwing it over his head.

Tía Victoria yelped, trying to back Carlos away, as the sheet danced around on its own.

“Oh!” The ipad camera clicked. “Dang, it was in selfie mode!”

But by now, tía Victoria was shrieking, pulling Carlos backwards with her, all the way out of the living room.

Reggie laughed happily, tossing the sheet back into the basket. He pushed back his hair and fell comfortably into the armchair. He was a master haunter.

The other boys stared, arms folded and eyes narrowed in anger. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Alex asked.

“Yeah, I do, I’ve defended every kid who’s never been believed,” Reggie said. Duh. “Some might say I’m a superhero.” Then his eyes widened as he remembered. “We should probably hide before Julie finds out, huh?” And he took off out of the house.

Alex and Luke, furious, quickly followed him.

Reggie ran, still laughing a little under his breath. A superhero. If there’d been a superhero like that around in the 90s, his parents would always have listened to him. When he told them there was a monster in the closet (which, knowing ghosts were real, was definitely possible). Or when he told them he got pushed around at school, or when he told them he didn’t want them to stay together just for his sake. They would have listened.

As he hurried to a hiding place, Reggie didn’t regret it.

\--  
LA 2020, age 17 (dead)

The band stood on the Orpheum stage as the crowd burst into cheers. Reggie fought to catch his breath, his hair dripping sweat into his eyes, a hand on the neck of his bass guitar and his mic in the other hand. The colored lights blinded him as he looked out at the crowd.

Finished business, he thought.

Julie raised her arms to bow, and the boys followed, holding mics, sticks, instruments. Reggie glanced over. Their smiles were as wide as his.

They bowed, and as Reggie's hair fell forward, he felt the low buzz in his chest that meant an electric jolt was coming.

No.

In an instant, he met the eyes of the other boys, and understanding passed between them. They straightened, and as they'd done so many times before, poofed away.

Reggie gasped in pain as he tumbled onto the studio floor, a blue jolt rocking his body—or, his spirit. He could see the other boys fallen around him, clutching at their chests. The pain tore through them in an instant. Then it was gone.

Luke coughed, pushing himself into a sitting position. "Boys...," he said.

"We failed," said Alex, grunting in pain as he sat up, too.

Reggie just rolled over. "Playing the Orpheum wasn't our unfinished business," he said.

"No shit," said Luke, raising his eyebrows, with a chuckle that quickly turned into a cough.

The studio was silent. Crickets chirped along outside, like nothing was wrong at all.

"What do we do?" Reggie asked.

Luke shrugged helplessly. "Say goodbye?"

A scoff. "To who?" Reggie asked. He finally—laboriously—sat up, his back against the armchair.

Luke looked at Alex. "To Willie?"

Alex looked down at the drumsticks he'd dropped on the ground. He shook his head. "Let him think we've crossed over."

"And Julie?" Reggie asked softly.

They caught each other's eyes.

"She can't lose anyone else," said Luke.

Suddenly, another jolt. They cried out, Reggie flinching hard, and hitting his head against the arm of the chair. It felt like his whole self was flickering angrily out of existence. It was.

The pain left again, and they caught their breaths. "You okay?" Luke asked the others, as soon as he could speak.

"Yeah."

"Peachy," Alex said bitterly.

"D'you think Julie will come back to the studio when she gets back?" Reggie asked.

"Yes," said Alex.

"No," said Luke. "She'll be exhausted. We all are. And even if she does, we'll... probably be gone by then."

Alex looked unconvinced.

"Gone," Reggie repeated. "Poof. No more Reggie. No more Sunset Curve."

"Like we were never here," said Luke.

Silence.

Then, "We aren't joining Caleb's club, are we," said Alex. It was more of a statement than a question.

"No," Luke was the first to say. "We make music together, or not at all."

Reggie exhaled slowly, nodding. "What he said. Julie's our family."

"Caleb can't bully us into anything," Alex agreed.

They could hear the clock in the studio ticking. Reggie blinked, looking down at his ghost hands. "So we wait, then," he said.

Lightning struck, and he grit his teeth—another jolt, flashing pain through every part of him.

The boys groaned, holding their chests, worn to pieces by the nonstop attacks.

"Wait to die," said Alex, huffing out a little laugh. "Again."

\--

They could hear singing, outside. A playful, laughing Julie and her family with "Stand Tall" still stuck in their heads.

"It's Julie," Reggie groaned from his place on the floor. With the jolts coming so often, the boys had given up trying to move at all; they just lay in pieces, trying to ignore each others’ pained cries whenever the curse struck.

"Shh," said Luke.

As the Molinas talked outside, Alex pushed himself up on one weak arm and held out a hand to the light switch. A moment; a hiss of frustration; and then the lights went out. Alex fell back to the floor.

"Willie teach you that?" Luke asked, with a breathless laugh.

"Maybe," said Alex. "Shh."

The doors opened slowly, and they heard Julie walk in. They held their breaths, trying not to move, not to give themselves away.

Julie exhaled. “I… I know I already said this, but, uh.” She hesitated. “Thank you guys,” she said softly.

Reggie felt like crying, lying in the dark and hearing her say such nice things. They hadn’t really said goodbye. That hurt more than Caleb’s jolts, he thought, blinking at the ceiling. And Reggie knew it was selfish even as the words left his mouth: “you’re welcome,” he said weakly.

“Dude,” Luke scolded, as Alex sighed exasperatedly.

The light snapped back on, and Julie gasped, confused eyes scanning over the boys.

They shifted, letting out coughs and groans, and Luke lifted his head to meet her eyes.

“Wh-why are you here? I—I thought—”

A vicious jolt struck them, and they cried out, clutching at their dress shirts.

Julie lost her breath. “No, no,” she said, “I thought you crossed over, why didn’t you cross over?”

The boys pushed shakily to sitting positions, no strength in their ghost arms.

“I guess playing the Orpheum wasn’t our unfinished business,” said Alex.

“Point Caleb,” Reggie said. He held onto the chair with both arms, or he thought he’d fall back again.

“We wanted you to think that we crossed over, so we pretended to,” said Luke. He had tears in his eyes: from the pain, or from the sight of Julie. “We just….” He grimaced, glancing down at the ground. “We had nowhere else to go.”

Reggie looked up at Julie, his own eyes blurring with tears. “We thought you’d go straight to bed.”

Alex, a hand on the amp, managed to stand. “Yeah, well,” he said breathlessly, “I knew she was gonna come out here, but nobody ever listens to—” Another jolt sliced off the end of his sentence, and they doubled over.

Julie gasped, running to them. “You have to save yourselves right now,” she said desperately, “go join Caleb’s club, please! It’s better than not existing at all.” Her voice was breaking, as she reached out to them and to the doors like she’d be pushing them away, if only they could touch. “Please just go! Poof out, do something, please, do it for me, please.”

Reggie pulled himself up to sit on the arm of the chair, and slowly shook his head. “We’re not going back there.”

Behind him, Luke walked shakily towards her. “No music is worth making, Julie, if we’re not making it with you,” he said.

Tears tumbled down her face, and she said nothing.

“No regrets,” said Luke.

Julie threw her arms around his shoulders, holding him as tightly as she’d ever held anyone. Luke dropped his head, hiding tears in her white sweater.

“I love you guys,” said Julie.

This was goodbye. Reggie chuckled tearfully; he’d always been a romantic. Devastating goodbyes were a romantic cliché.

But a warmth, a light opposite to the jolts, was fading in—Luke was glowing. Julie stepped back, stunned.

Then it hit them. She had hugged him. She had been able to hug him, like any old lifer.

He was shining like a lightbulb as Julie took his hands. “How can I feel you?” she asked.

“I don’t—I don’t know,” said Luke. “I….”

They cupped each others’ faces in their hands, confusion almost giving way to happiness. Luke looked back at the others. “I feel stronger,” he said. If it weren’t for the glow, he would almost look alive again.

Julie’s eyes widened. “Alex, Reggie, come,” she said.

They did, staggering to her sides, and their arms went around each other. They hugged, so tight that Reggie could smell everyone’s breath and hear them crying. He felt surrounded. The light grew; they were all lit up with the same golden glow. When they stepped back, he looked up, heavenward. He could feel all the strength back in his body, growing by the second. “Woah,” he said. “I—I don’t feel as weak anymore.”

“Yeah, me neither,” said Alex. A pause. “Not that, you know, I was ever that weak.”

They laughed. Then a warmth lit their wrists. The boys pulled back their sleeves to see Caleb’s club stamps, as a beam of light fell on them. The purple ink lifted from their skin and flew up, up, until it was glitter spinning away above them.

“What do you think that means?” asked Julie.

Reggie kept his eyes on the light from above, tears spilling down his cheeks. He ran a thumb over his wrist—no ink. His mouth twitched up into a smile. It meant they were free. They loved each other enough to break a curse to pieces. They loved Reggie that much. It made his heart feel too big.

Tearful smiles grew on all their faces. “I think the band’s back,” said Luke to Julie.

Alex glanced up from his wrist. “You guys… think we could try that hug thing one more time?”

Without hesitation, they all pulled each other close a second time. Reggie already knew he loved hugging Julie; now they could feel how soft her sweater was, and the way her curly hair tumbled over their arms. Holding on to her, and to the boys, it felt like home. “I like this,” he laughed, because you were supposed to like home, and now he knew why.

“Me too,” said Julie through her grin.

\--  
LA 2020, age 17 (dead)

Reggie was getting used to being dead. He spent his nights in the studio, playing games with Alex and Luke to pass the time instead of sleeping. (They’d tried to sleep—it led to too many hours of lying still, getting more and more restless, until they all gave up and moved back to the couch. They still weren’t sure if sleeping was possible.)

During the day, he played music, just like always, with Julie and the boys. When they were gone, he watched music videos on Carlos’s laptop; he helped Ray while he worked; and sometimes he just sat around in high places, ‘cause lifers couldn’t tell him not to. Like on top of the cupboards, or on a top floor windowsill, partway through the window.

Spending so much time around the house, he picked up on a lot. Like how Julie hated oranges, and how Ray was always losing things. (Mostly how Ray was losing things.)

“Where’d I put my phone?” Ray muttered to himself, patting his pockets and glancing around the room.

“Ah, silly old Ray,” said Reggie. He poofed down from the top of the bookshelf, already moving to the kitchen. “You left it by the microwave earlier.” He grabbed the phone and leaned over to set it right in the middle of the counter, where Ray would see it.

Ray turned, and laughed a little. “Duh, it’s right in front of me. I’m getting old.”

“Come on, you don’t look a day over thirty,” said Reggie. 

And then Ray lost his laptop, then it was his secret candy stash, and the next day, it was his keys. He was already late on his way out of the house, with no time to search every inch of the house for his car keys, like he had to do every day.

Reggie had seen him set them absentmindedly on the mantelpiece the day before. As Ray searched the couch cushions and checked his watch, he shook his head and picked up the key ring. He walked over to the door and hung the keys gently on the hook where they were supposed to be in the first place. "Put your things away, kid," he scolded in a fatherly old man voice.

Ray didn’t notice, as he checked again under the pillows he’d thrown aside.

Reggie sighed and shook the keys loudly.

Ray looked up. His eyes caught the hook and he frowned. "What...?" He walked over and scooped up the keys. "Who put those there?"

Reggie grinned. "Only yours truly."

"I'm not organized enough to do it,” Ray thought aloud, inspecting the keys. “Julie and Carlos aren't home. And I probably would have noticed if Victoria broke in?"

With a dramatic sigh, Reggie fell backwards into the couch. "Ah, Ray, you forget your best bud so easily."

A pause. "Hello?" Ray called.

Reggie looked up.

"Yep, I'm still going crazy," muttered Ray. Then, loudly, "Carlos says there are ghosts around. If that's you, let me know."

Silence. Reggie was still. The Phantoms were supposed to be a secret; but that was just 'cause Ray would think Julie was crazy. Now, he knew there was a band, and maybe a ghost, and he was asking point-blank if someone was there.

"Are you the one that's been helping me in the kitchen? Uh, the chef ghost, or...?"

Yeah, Reggie wasn't bad at cooking, but he couldn't let Ray think his only goal in life was a sandwich. He had dreams, alright? Big dreams. But then again—this was Julie's dad. They'd promised her to stay secret.

"Hello?"

Reggie didn't move. He didn't know what to do.

"Alright. Shy," said Ray. He laughed a little, shaking his head. "Well, if you're really there, uh, you're a very helpful ghost. Hang around whenever you like."

A smile twitched again at Reggie's face. Right, he was helpful. Ray wanted him there. In a moment of confidence, he leaned over and deliberately straightened the pile of magazines on the coffee table, just to show Ray that he really was helpful.

Ray blinked. "God, I hope this isn't all just hallucinations, or I'll have to leave the kids with Vic and check myself into a mental hospital," he muttered, partly joking, and finally turned to leave.

"Very responsible of you," Reggie said, beaming. "But please don't, or I'd feel bad."

Even if Ray could have heard him, he was already gone.

\--  
LA 2020, age 17 (dead)

"I want to go back to school," said Reggie, interrupting Julie and Luke as they noted changes in the lyrics of the new song. They looked up. Alex stopped twirling a drumstick through his fingers.

"What?" said Luke. "You hated school."

"Did not," Reggie said. It hadn't all been bad. There had been cute girls and the band room and Sunset Curve. And Julie didn't have to know about the bullies.

"Why do you want to go back?" Julie asked.

"Yeah," Alex added, "we're dead. Not like we need an education." He tapped his drumstick against his head. “We’re basically geniuses compared to all the old ghosts from centuries ago.”

Reggie shrugged. "I dunno. I like learning."

Luke laughed. "Right, just not math learning, or science learning, or—"

"Yeah, shut up," said Reggie. "I'm bored, I wanna go back to school."

A pause, and Julie threw up her hands. "If you want, you could tag along with me tomorrow.”

“Really?” he said, lighting up. “You're the best, Julie." He leaned over to hug her across the keyboard.

"Yeah, don't get too excited. It's high school," said Alex, raising his eyebrows.

"Exactly."

\--

It was high school. That didn't sink in until Reggie followed Julie through the door and got walked through by a group of three emo kids with dyed hair and eyeliner.

He grimaced, shaking off the feeling of being stepped through. The halls were crowded. He stood close behind Julie as she navigated them.

"You good?" she asked quietly.

"Great," he said, holding on to the hem of his flannel. He took in the bright blue and red hallways, the scuffed floors, the dull rows of lockers. "Yeah, school looks just like I remember."

"Good to know nothing's changed in 25 years," Julie laughed softly.

"Hey, talking to yourself?" Flynn asked, appearing at her shoulder.

Julie jumped. "Nah, it's—it's Reggie. He's hanging with me at school today."

"Cool," said Flynn, rolling with it. "Is he a history genius? 'Cause I gotta write a presentation on the Industrial Revolution before fifth period."

Julie glanced at Reggie, eyebrows raised in question.

Reggie made an apologetic face and shook his head.

"Sorry, Flynn. You'll have to use Wikipedia like always."

Flynn waved a hand. "I'll survive." 

"Does she have the same classes as you?" Reggie asked Julie.

"A few. We have music, calculus, and dance together."

“Cool!” Reggie wasn't disappointed that they shared classes. He liked Flynn: she was funny, and loyal, and outgoing (and also really pretty). Julie was good at picking friends.

"Tell ghostie boy to come on, or we'll be late to music class on his first day," said Flynn.

Julie laughed, and grabbed Reggie's hand to pull him along with her to first period.

There were instruments on every side of the classroom. The shiniest baby grand piano Reggie had ever seen, and guitar cases lining the wall, and lockers on the other side full of school instruments. So this was the kind of funding a real music program got. He settled onto the floor by Julie’s chair as the class bell finally rang.

“Alright, class,” said the teacher (Julie had said her name was Mrs Harrison). “Since we finished all of our performances last week, we’re going to start a new unit today. By the end of this unit, each of you will be performing a short original piece of music. It can be any genre, any instruments you like, but you must write the whole piece and you must perform it for the class.”

Excited and nervous whispers were passed through the crowd of young musicians.

“Easy for you,” said Flynn to Julie.

“Look who’s talking, miss freestyle,” Julie whispered back, grinning.

Carrie raised her hand. “Mrs Harrison,” she said, before she was called on. “Mrs Harrison, will this be a group project or solo?”

“Solo, Carrie, you will write it yourself. Although I will allow you to have friends accompany you in the performance, if you’ve written in more instruments or vocals.”

“She was worried for a sec,” Flynn whispered. “Can’t perform without Dirty Candy backing her up.”

Reggie thought that was a little harsh.

“Actually,” Carrie hissed back, “I was asking for your benefit, since apparently Julie needs her light show to even get on stage. Do you sleep with a night light, too, Jules?”

Alright, that was even harsher. Reggie wished they wouldn’t attack each other like that. It made him feel like he was back in school, with the popular boys who’d comment on his attachment to his flannel, or the way he hummed songs to himself all the time; or who would call him words that made him feel a little sick, ‘cause he wore cheap clothes and ‘cause he held his bandmates’ hands sometimes and ‘cause he was a little all over the place. “I bet there’ll be some really cool songs!” he said loudly, before the girls could answer.

Julie glanced down at him, and tilted her head a little. “Uh, Reggie’s excited about the project,” she relayed to Flynn. “He’s right, this could be pretty cool.”

“Wanna work on our songs after school?” Flynn asked. “Your studio has the perfect songwriting vibes.”

“Yeah, it does,” said Reggie, smiling as they talked, and his shoulders relaxed a little in relief.

\--

Later, Reggie would admit, he wasn't paying attention in biology class. Of course, he never did, but having chosen to be there, he'd thought he might learn something.

Instead, he was sitting on top of the teacher's desk, swinging his legs, and looking around the classroom. He recognized some of the faces from the crowds at the band's shows. A girl from the dance group, a couple of cheerleaders, and a whole gang of lacrosse jocks in red and blue varsity jackets.

That jock with the blond hair and the goofy smile, Reggie thought Julie knew him. He had been at the Edge of Great show, and at the Orpheum, watching her with a look of admiration on his face. And wearing a really stupid hat.

Reggie snorted quietly. That kid was lucky most hats weren't allowed at school, or he'd look that ridiculous every day. As it was, he seemed to be popular, with his shaggy hair (just like Reggie remembered from the 90s) and his green eyes. Dumb green eyes, they made everyone look pretty.

He wondered what the jock's name was. He honestly never really listened when Julie talked about people from school. He didn't tend to like people from school.

"I hope you're paying attention, there will be a quiz on this next class," said Mr Rivera.

Reggie jumped, pulling his feet up and instinctively turning to the board. "A quiz?" he groaned. He didn't understand a word Mr Rivera had written.

Julie gave him a look.

Oh, right. Dead. Reggie grinned. He pointed to the jock kid. "You know this guy, right?"

Julie sighed. "Nick," she mouthed.

"Nick. Classic name. Nicholas. Nicky." Reggie started kicking his feet again. "Is he cool? He seems cool."

Julie shrugged. "Nice guy. My dance partner," she mouthed.

Ah. So that was this guy.

"Julie!" called Mr Rivera. "What is it over there that's more interesting than semipermeable membranes?"

"Oh—uh." Julie grimaced. "I just zoned out?"

"Focus," Mr Rivera scolded.

"Yeah, sorry."

"Sorry, Jules!" Reggie whispered, and mimed zipping his mouth shut.

He didn’t miss the getting-in-trouble part of school. But at least he wouldn’t have to take the quiz. At least people were nicer, mostly. And at least, just like he remembered, high school was full of cute people. He blinked, catching the passing thought. He didn’t think… no, he only meant the cheerleaders. Yeah, just the cheerleaders.

School wasn’t so bad.

\--  
LA 2020, age 17 (dead)

Reggie had thought he liked the internet in 2020. He'd sneak on to Carlos's computer and find awesome music he could play for free, and videos of really pretty guitars, and people teaching him how to do basically anything. It was so cool.

When they’d posted the Edge of Great video, he had been the first to steal Carlos's computer and log on to see it. And it was perfect; it looked like a pro music video, like the ones he'd seen. They were all at their best, and looking on top of the world as they played and sang. Reggie had smiled just remembering the performance.

He liked to come back and watch the video, just to make him feel better on bad days. Carlos's new password wasn't hard to guess (it was imtheghosttoaster). And today was a bad day, already: he was dead tired (ha) and frustrated with his new riff. So here he was.

As the video played, Reggie scrolled down to the comments. He liked to see people interact on the internet. And the comments were always so sweet:

[here before they're famous]  
[marry me lukeee ❤️]  
[I saw them live at the Orpheum! So good!!]  
[Wish I had friends like this]  
[this is my new favorite song honestly.]

They were the best. Reggie smiled, caught up in the compliments, starting to feel a little better. As his smile grew, he almost missed the little comments in between—but then he caught them.

[I could write that lol]  
[anyone else think the bassist isn't as cute as the others? sorry !!]  
[what kind of talent show crap is this]  
[i love julie and the phantoms! julie, luke, alex, and *checks smudged writing on hand* rachel]  
[hey @julie I play bass too and I'm hot af, hmu if you wanna replace that guy and actually get famous]

Reggie couldn't stop reading them. Comment after comment about how the band was terrible, and about how he, specifically, was bringing them down. There were more about him than about any of the others.

[who invited Reggie to join lol]  
[the guy in the leather jacket 🤢🤮]  
[my favorite phantom is Luke or Alex!!]  
[now imagine if they actually had a good bass player...]

The door slammed and Carlos walked in, backpack over his shoulder. "I'm home, Dad! Julie! Ghosts!"

Reggie jumped, dropping the computer on the couch, and poofed away.

He was in the loft, alone. Back on the old beanbag where he'd spent too many nights when he was alive. The comments echoed in his head, and he felt himself mouthing them, already knowing the words by heart. "Who invited him...." "If you wanna actually get famous...." And those little emoji faces. He'd thought emojis were supposed to be cute.

His eyes stung and he tried to push away the thoughts. The band needed him, he reminded himself. He was important. He might not always say the smartest things, but he had some natural charm—and at least he could play bass. That was what the boys would say when they teased him.

But what if he couldn't play bass? And what if he was the ugly, awkward one? Maybe they'd just let him join the band out of pity. The boys were always telling each other how talented they were. But looking back, it was hard to pinpoint an exact time they’d said that to him. He knew they had, they did all the time. Right?

Reggie shut his eyes tightly, shaking his head. He was overthinking this. He was overthinking, and he just needed to put on his soft flannel and do some self-care, or whatever.

If he could find the flannel, that is. It wasn't with his other things, Reggie realized, as he dug through his old clothes.

He'd been wearing the tattered thing nearly every day for the past two years, and now it was gone. He sorted through the stuff in the loft, turned out the cushions on the couch, checked behind his amp and under the rug just to be sure; there was no sign. Losing things—who was he, Ray?

He felt naked without the flannel. He pulled hard on his leather jacket, but it wasn't the same: it wasn't soft enough to hold on to, or bright enough to focus on when he wanted to tune everything out. He kept reaching for a flannel sleeve, and feeling his hand fall through its place—and suddenly he knew how Julie had felt trying to hold on to them before the Orpheum.

Reggie sat down hard on the couch. He grit his teeth and blinked a little saltwater from his eyes, his throat aching with the threat of a sob.

He just wished someone was there, who could hug him and say those comments were all wrong and help him find his flannel someplace he thought he'd already looked. It was so childish, he knew. And nobody was around, anyway. Except....

Reggie poofed out of the studio, back to the house. There was Ray, at the dining room table on his laptop, like he was so often. Looking like the epitome of a fatherly cliche with his gray hair and sweater and humming a little tune under his breath.

Reggie slowly sat down next to him. "Hi, Ray," he said, and his voice cracked a little, and just like that he lost the battle to keep it together.

His shoulders shook, his eyes burned, tears fell and his chest hurt and his nose ran. It was stupid that even ghosts could still cry, that even death didn't get rid of that awful feeling.

Reggie frustratedly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, covering his mouth with the other to muffle the sobs.

Ray just kept on with his work.

"Stupid g-ghosts," Reggie said angrily between sobs. He fixed his eyes on the table, even as it kept blurring in front of him. He tried to slow his breathing, but the air came in staggered breaths. A tear slipped past his hand and fell to the table.

Ray paused, glancing over. "What...?"

"Well, it—" Reggie forced a painful laugh. "Well, it ain't a leak in your ceiling." He quickly wiped away the tear with his jacket sleeve. "Even you can tell I'm having, uh, a bad day."

As if he could sense the company, Ray pushed his computer aside, still looking in the direction of the tear. "Something...."

"Something's up. Yeah, it's that ghost, Ray," Reggie said bitterly. His breaths were coming a little easier, so he kept talking. "It's the ghost of a guy who literally died playing music and maybe he isn't even good at it. Ghost of some dumb kid who starts crying without his flannel, like a baby losing their blanket."

Ray, as always, couldn't hear him.

"This stupid ghost hates the 90s, and he hates the 20s, too, 'cause nothing's really changed except that everybody's gone, his Mom, and Dad, and Bobby. And even his house is gone, it's a bike shack now." Reggie sniffed loudly. "I have problems, you know. I need, like, a hug sometimes. Or a little advice. Like, how do I tell the others my country songs are really important to me, and how come if I like girls, I think the lacrosse boys at Julie's school are pretty? And—and I keep worrying what'll my parents think, which is dumb, 'cause I'm dead. How come I don't want to try to find my parents, anyway? Luke visits his. Shouldn't I?"

He was aware that he was ranting. But then Ray spoke again.

"This is my ghost helper, isn’t it?” said Ray. “Hanging around again. It’s always good to see you.”

Reggie wiped at his face, his eyes on Julie’s dad.

“Uh.” Ray pushed his computer away, turning more fully to where he assumed the ghost was (his eyes fell a little to the left). “Obviously I can’t see you, but maybe I’m, ‘feeling the vibes’ or something,” he said, forcing a little laugh. “You seem kind of sadder today?”

A smile wobbled on Reggie’s face. “You did notice.”

“If I’m right—” Ray reached over and placed a box of tissues in front of Reggie. “—you don’t have to tell me. But I’m here for you, ghost… friend.”

Something, half a laugh, half a sob, shook Reggie. He pulled a tissue from the box and blew his nose.

Ray’s eyes widened at the floating tissue. He gave a smile that was only a little sad.

His computer shifted a little on its own, and the google search bar opened. (It was the easiest site for Reggie to find.) In the little box, words slowly appeared: 'thanks ray.'

“You’re welcome,” said Ray. “Um, what should I call you?”

'reggie.' And then, 'not a chef.'

“Ah, so that’s why the french dip thing wasn’t your unfinished business, like Carlos said.”

'who cares its dipping. the ghost is just an excuse for goodness'

“Correct, Mr Reggie,” said Ray, grinning. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s, ah, what’s wrong?”

'it’s stupid.'

“Not to you. So, not to me, either.”

Reggie paused, and bit his lip, and tapped out an answer. 'i read something mean and then i lost my favorite flannel.'

“Ah.”

'yeah stupid'

“No, Reggie, I have a story, I—” Ray was already shaking his head, remembering. “Once in college, exams were coming up and I lost a sweater at the laundromat and I basically had a breakdown.” He laughed. “My roommate had to drag me to the kitchen to eat dinner, all wrapped up in a blanket I stole from him.”

That sounded nice. 'i can’t eat,' said Reggie.

“Yeah. Well, you know, you could still stick around for family dinner tonight. Only if you want company. It always makes me feel better.”

Reggie hesitated. Julie would be at dinner. Could he sit in on that? Bother them during family time?

Like he read his mind, Ray added, “Anyone is family who I say is family, so you wouldn’t be intruding.”

'okay,' he answered finally. 'thanks.'

“Anytime, kid.”

\--

"Julie!" Carlos yelled up the stairs again as the dishes clattered where they were being set on the table.

"I'm coming!" Julie called back, hurrying down the stairs to the dinner table. "Sorry!"

"There you are," said Ray with a smile.

Julie looked over, and nearly jumped.

Reggie was sitting quietly at the end of the table, like he'd been invited to dinner and wasn't sure how to act. He turned red when he saw her, grimacing awkwardly.

Julie slowly sat down next to him, confusion written across her face. "What are you doing here?" she whispered.

"I'm sorry," Reggie said hurriedly, “Ray maybe figured out I was here and I was kinda upset and he sorta invited me to stay for dinner? Even though I know I can't eat, and it's your thing, and...." He scratched his head awkwardly. "I can leave...."

Julie glanced over at Ray, who was busy setting the food tía Victoria had left them in the middle of the table. “He knows you’re here?”

“Sorry,” said Reggie again. “He just knows that I’m a ghost and I hang out here sometimes….”

She laughed a little. “He’s such a dad. He just found out you exist and he’s already trying to adopt you.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing. I’m glad you’re here.” It was family dinner. She didn't know much about Reggie's family, but she knew they were it now.

"Julie, would you say grace?" Ray asked, sitting down.

She nodded, holding out her hand for her dad, and... for her ghost.

Reggie dutifully placed his ghost hand where hers was and bowed his head.

"Thank you for the food tía brought us, and for our family time," Julie said. "And thank you for, uh... for brothers. Amen."

"Amen," said Carlos and Ray.

"Amen," Reggie echoed. He slowly turned to Julie.

"Wow, I had no idea you cared about me so much," Carlos teased her.

"Yeah, yeah, shut up," said Julie, waving him off. She glanced at Reggie, smiling, and nodded.

He lit up, trying to control his beaming smile.

"So, Julie," said Ray, "whatcha been up to all day?"

Julie shrugged. "Mostly just homework," she said, "but the band had this new idea earlier...."

Reggie sat up straight, paying polite attention. He was careful to keep his elbows off the table.

\--  
LA 2020, age 17 (dead)

It took months before Reggie finally decided to track down his parents.

Every time he stood on the beach, looking at the bike shack where his house used to be, he knew it was wrong. That was supposed to be a little house with ugly siding, and his bedroom window facing the ocean. He'd never liked being at home, but having it gone, it felt like the universe was telling him that his whole life was a lie. Like it was deleting his whole childhood. No lasagna in the quiet dining room, no sneaking out instead of asking for permission, no saving his pennies to buy a bass guitar, no dad coming home late again—no dad at all.

When Reggie looked at the bike shack, he felt like he was going crazy.

So he stopped looking at it, and he started "accidentally" finding himself in the same room as Julie, just to see if this time, he could work up the courage to ask for her help.

It was a week before he could. She was sitting on the couch inside, doing homework. He was wandering in from the studio. He walked in, whistling, and fell sideways into the armchair. He sighed loudly.

"Hi, Reggie," she said, not looking up.

"Hi, Jules." He pushed back his hair and he rushed out the words before he could chicken out again— "I need your help."

She looked up, meeting his eyes. "With what?" she asked slowly.

Reggie looked down at his hands. "Uhh, well, I kinda wanna find my parents. And I don't know... how...."

"Wow, Reg." Julie smiled a little. "Are you sure?"

He nodded. He didn't say anything.

"Okay, well, we can try to google them first," said Julie, setting aside her textbooks and picking up her phone. "Sound good?"

"Uh, yeah, think so."

Julie motioned for him to come over, and he hurried over to the couch. He sat next to her, leaning over to see the phone screen and absentmindedly fiddling with the hem of her sweater in front of him.

"Cool, what are their names?"

\--

There were two addresses. One for Mom, one for Dad. Reggie didn't know how he was supposed to feel about that. He wrote them both on separate slips of paper and put them in his ghost pockets. (One in each pocket so they were far away from each other; it felt safer.)

He wouldn’t have asked the boys to come with him, but they volunteered. Reggie shrugged like he didn’t mind either way, but he was secretly relieved when Luke said they’d be by his side.

The first house was big, all stucco and stone. It loomed watchfully over Reggie's shoulder as he walked up the steps, followed closely by his band.

A heavy door with a metal knocker. No annoying doorbell. Reggie debated whether he should poof in, or walk through the door, or knock and wait for someone to answer. Were there some kind of ghost manners for this? He looked at the other boys, but they only shrugged.

He knocked. It wasn't long before they heard someone walking through the house.

Reggie's heart was beating hard enough to move his whole chest, like when he turned up the bass all the way at a show. He smoothed his hair, and then he realized that was ridiculous, because no one was going to see it. A pause. He smoothed his hair again.

The door opened. There stood a woman, gray-haired and leaning on a cane, and with eyes the same green as his own.

“Mom,” Reggie whispered.

She looked older than Luke’s parents, older than Ray—the weight of the world would do that to you. But somehow, now, there was something about her that was younger than he had ever seen.

“Hello?” she said confusedly, when she saw no one at the doorstep. She hesitated, looking around. A smile twitched at her face as she shook her head. “Those kids playing tricks again.” And she stepped back and pushed the door shut again.

Reggie just stood still, staring at the wood. That was his mom. God, he barely looked her in the face when he was alive, he was too busy hiding in his bedroom. He never saw her look so calm.

“Reg?” said Luke.

“Right.” Reggie shook his head clear and stepped through the closed door into the house.

“Nobody there,” Mom was calling through the house, walking slowly back to the living room. “I think it was another prank.” She made her way back to the couch and sat down next to two other ladies, both holding cute little teacups.

They hadn’t had teacups at home when Reggie was little. Or, maybe they had, and they’d been broken in the heat of an argument.

“You really ought to talk to their parents about this,” said one of the guests.

“Let ‘em have a little fun,” Reggie complained, “they probably need it.”

“Ah, it’s not hurting anybody,” Mom said. “I might never have an excuse to walk about, otherwise.” She laughed.

Reggie could feel the other boys looking around behind him. “It’s like any old lady’s house,” Luke whispered to Alex.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be walking so much, Susie, not with that knee,” said the other lady, nodding to Mom’s cane.

“Oh, psh.” Mom grinned.

That was Mom. Pretending everything was perfectly fine. He remembered one day—she’d been screaming at Dad for something, for not locking the front door the night before. Reggie had walked in with Alex to pick up his homework before band practice; as soon as she’d seen the other boy, Mom had laughed, all “don’t pay any mind to us old married couples bickering.” She was careful to a fault to not show any problems. Reggie was pretty sure he’d inherited that, too.

As they all settled back into conversation, he turned, wandering through the unfamiliar house.

He didn't recognize anything. None of the furniture had come from their old house, none of the paintings on the wall, he didn't even recognize the people in most of the pictures. He would almost have wondered if he was at the wrong address; but he knew that was his mom in the other room. Maybe it was a good thing there was so little; that she wasn't thinking about him and Dad, all the time.

It took the living room, kitchen, and bathroom before he finally saw something he recognized hanging in the hallway. A photo. It had been a family picture when he was really little; all he remembered was the pretty bridge where they’d taken the picture, when they were out walking. On the left side, his dad had been cut smoothly out of the frame. With just the two of them left, this picture looked like any mom and her son. It was… cute.

Reggie carefully lifted the picture off the wall and sat down on the floor, looking down at it.

It didn't look like him. It just looked like a little boy, with a full head of dark hair and his favorite red t-shirt. He was leaning happily towards his mom—it was a fun day out under a blue sky.

It had been one of the best days.

Reggie’s face felt wet before he even knew he was crying.

“Reggie?” Alex said softly, walking towards him.

“Sorry,” Reggie said, on instinct.

“No.”

“I mean….” He motioned to the picture in his lap.

Alex slid down the wall next to him, leaning over to see. “It's a great picture,” he said.

“I think it’s—I think it's the only family picture we have.”

“Family picture?”

Reggie nodded. He slid the photo out of its frame and showed it to Alex, tracing the edge where it had been cut.

“Oh.”

“I still can't believe they actually split up,” said Reggie. He exhaled softly. “But I guess, uh, once I was gone, they didn't have a reason to hold on to each other.”

Alex said nothing. He didn't know what to say.

“It's not… I'm not upset. Maybe it’s better this way.” Reggie waved the cut picture, but he didn't just mean that.

“You can still be sad,” said Alex. “Even if it's better.”

“I know,” said Reggie.

Luke peeked around the corner, giving a wave. “Hi.”

“Hey, come and see my family picture,” Reggie said, as cheerfully as he could muster. “I was a super cute kid.”

“No duh,” said Luke, moving to sit down next to them. “Anyone coulda told us that.” He looked down at the picture and laughed. “Aw, baby Reginald.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Reggie put the picture back in the frame, clipping it in. “Remember Reginald means, like, king.”

“Apologies, Your Majesty King Reginald,” Luke said, giving a teasing bow.

“Your Royal Excellency King Reginald,” Alex added.

“Your Highness.”

“Your Grace.”

“Your Worship.”

“Your Honor.”

“Those aren't even for kings,” Reggie huffed. But he was smiling now. 

They were silent for a moment. Then, “so,” said Luke, “what d’you think of the house?”

“Big,” said Reggie. “Nothin’ like the house on the beach.”

“It is nice, huh?” Alex said.

“Yeah.” Reggie looked down at the picture one last time. “Yeah, I'm happy for her.”

\--

The second house was family-sized, that was what Reggie noticed first. Right in the middle of suburbia and lined with bushes and just the size to raise a family.

'No Solicitors.' Reggie grinned and rang the doorbell twice.

The door swung open, and there was a stranger. A woman, his mom’s age, in a bright sweater.

“Who’s that?” Alex asked.

“I don't know,” Reggie said. He checked the address—it was right.

The lady looked around. Before she could shut the door again, the boys slipped past her arm and into the house.

“Who was it?” someone called.

“No one was there,” the lady said, as she turned and walked straight through Alex. He shivered.

Reggie followed the lady, confused. She walked back to the kitchen, where a man was making a smoothie in the blender.

“That’s strange,” said the man.

There he was. Dad. Gray hair, still a lot of it (that was a relief). A soft flannel shirt and comfy old man shoes and a lot of smile wrinkles. Smile wrinkles? They seemed out of place on his face. You almost couldn't see his old worry lines.

“They’re married,” Luke said, motioning to their left hands.

Reggie blinked, catching the gold bands shining proudly on their fingers. “Oh.”

Unlike his mom’s house, there were pictures everywhere: the fridge, the walls, standing on the tables. Old photos of Dad and his new wife with a kid—two kids—three kids. Then, graduation photos, and wedding photos, followed by newborn grandkid photos, and school performance photos. It was the kind of house you never enter for fear of hearing about how “my grandson Tom just joined the color guard at school….”

Dad was pouring his smoothie now, handing a glass to his wife and smiling at her.

Reggie turned away. His head hurt a little. He wandered down the wall of photos, searching, searching. There was no dark haired little boy. No rockstar teenager, either.

“You don't see…,” he started to ask the boys, and then stopped. “Sorry, uh, you don't see photos of me, do you?”

Alex turned to check the fridge next to him, and Luke scanned the table. Their frowns grew deeper and deeper.

“You don't have to keep looking,” Reggie said. “I mean, I don't really care that much.”

“Reggie…,” Luke tried, but he didn't know how to finish.

Reggie waved him away, forcing a smile. “Nah, look how happy he is. He’s got a new wife, and a big family and he's, like, super fly in his flannel shirt. He used to always wear suits.” His throat ached like he might cry. But there was nothing to cry about.

“He could've put up a picture of his dead son,” Luke muttered.

“Well, he was never father of the year,” Reggie laughed.

They just stared at him.

“No, really,” said Reggie. “I’m—I’m fine. It looks like he did better, the second time around. He did good.”

Alex shook his head, slipping his hand into Reggie’s. On the other side, Luke did the same. Just like onstage, when they were on top of the world, right after a perfect set. They knew that was what he needed.

“D’you wanna stay?” Alex asked.

“Nah,” said Reggie. “Let's go. Probably should have band practice anyway.”

“Alright,” said Luke. “Alright, let’s go.”

Their hands tightened in his, and together, they poofed back to the streets of Hollywood.

As they walked back to Julie’s house, Reggie felt something settle in his chest. He had visited both addresses. Mom and Dad were both living great lives. They were divorced. Mom had a pretty house and friends who had tea with her and looked out for her. Dad had a new wife and grown up kids and grandkids, even. They didn't look back and cry about what had been so wrong. They were happy.

Reggie remembered the screaming. The glass breaking. Hiding in his room with his country music, and sneaking out to band practice. Crying because he couldn't sleep through the noise. Leaving a backpack in the studio with clothes and a toothbrush cause he slept better in the cramped loft than in his own bed.

They had only stayed for him. He knew that. They hadn't pretended anything else. And now, they were free. Free to do anything they want, apart from each other.

Reggie would never say it out loud—but today, he was glad he was dead.

"You good, Reg?" Luke asked. He swapped hands that held Reggie’s and swung his free arm over his shoulder.

"Yeah," said Reggie.

When he'd been alive, his house had never held a family. But now his dad had a family; and his mom had a family; and Reggie… he had a family, too.

"Yeah, I am now."

\--  
LA 2020, age 17 (dead)

Reggie huffed out a frustrated breath. This was harder than it looked.

He was sitting cross-legged in the loft of the studio, multicolored strings scattered around, trying to weave a friendship bracelet from the youtube tutorial he was watching on Julie's borrowed laptop. Right now, he had an unidentifiable knot. So he was making progress.

Reggie looked down at the knot: dark blue, bright blue, white. And it hit him. The white was supposed to be for Alex's bracelet; Luke's had the brown.

He groaned, pausing the video and starting to pick apart the knot. This was the third time he'd had to start over, and he didn't have any of the bracelets done. He tugged the strings apart and laid them down: purple, teal, and black for Julie; pink, white, and silver for Alex; dark blue, bright blue, and brown for Luke. He was trying to match their favorite colors, and they had to be right.

If he made one for himself, it would be red, he thought with a smile. Duh. Red was super underrated.

The studio door creaked open, and Reggie jumped, throwing his flannel over the strings and laptop. He leaned over the railing. "Julie!"

"Hi, Reggie!" she said, "where are Alex and Luke?"

"I dunno," said Reggie. "Alex is probably with Willie and Luke's probably trying to figure out how to eat food."

Julie scoffed. "Why aren't you with him?"

He shrugged. "Was busy." And then kicked himself, because busy meant he needed an explanation.

"Whatcha doing?"

"Uhh." He pulled out the laptop, awkwardly holding it up. "Watching music videos on your computer. Sorry." It wasn't totally a lie. There was music in the tutorial video.

Julie shook her head fondly. "At least you're not taking Carlos's laptop anymore."

Reggie bit his lip. "He was already on it."

She laughed. "Of course. Hey, I'll be down here on the piano, will that bother you?"

"Nah, it'll be nice. I like when you play."

"Cool." Julie moved over to the baby grand and settled on the piano bench, already playing a quick scale.

As the notes filled the studio, Reggie turned back to his project. He pulled out the strings again, this time careful: blue, blue, and brown. Made a knot on the end. He pulled the video back to the beginning, and muted it, and tapped play.

Loop the string on the left. Under, back, and through, pull it to the top. Reggie hurriedly tried to follow what the person in the video was doing.

"Too fast, too fast," he muttered, eyes on the video strings, trying to move on to the next bit. It was supposed to make this super cool chevron pattern when it was all done. But he couldn't follow it at all—he was three loops behind the expert already, and had lost track of what color he was supposed to do next. He paused the video and sighed, resting his head on his hand.

Maybe this was too hard for him. It'd be easy for some people—he'd bet Julie could do this with her eyes closed. And Alex had made his own rainbow bracelet. Why couldn't Reggie do it? Did this have to be yet another thing he was bad at?

No. He was determined, there had to be a way to do this. "Maybe an easier one," he finally said to himself. He put down the strings again and left the video to find a different one. Something with less weaving, or whatever.

As Julie started messing with piano melodies for an old Sunset Curve song, Reggie finally found something he thought he could do. It was a twisty-looking bracelet, pretty straightforward and still nice. Perfect.

"I got this. I got this," he told himself quietly, spreading out the strings yet again. He watched the hands in the video move one color around all the others. He paused the video. He copied the movement. Tapped play again. Watched the next step. Paused. Copied.

It looked right, he thought, so far. He was doing this!

Reggie smiled and settled in to make three twisty bracelets.

\--

Luke laughed gleefully. “That was the best runthrough we’ve done yet,” he said, holding his guitar at his side and reaching for fist bumps with the others.

“A new Julie and the Phantoms hit,” said Julie dramatically. “I can see it now.”

“So whaddya say we open our next gig with this one?” Luke asked.

“As soon as we get a new gig,” Alex scoffed, grinning.

Luke rolled his eyes.

“Hey,” Reggie said quickly, before he could chicken out. “I have something to give you guys.”

“What is it? Friendship bracelets?” Alex asked.

Reggie blushed red. “Um. Yeah, actually.” He pulled out the three twisty bracelets he’d made for them. “They’re not perfect but I think I did okay, and they’re in all your favorite colors, so….”

“Aww!” Julie held out her hand, and he dropped the black, teal, and purple bracelet into her hand.

“And I didn't tie them ‘cause I wanted to make sure they'd fit but I hope they're not too short or anything,” Reggie continued as he handed out his little creations. “I maybe stole the string from the back of a craft store. But they weren't using it. And I figured, like, friendship stuff is more important.”

“These are so cool, Reg,” said Luke, inspecting the blue and brown of his bracelet.

“Yeah, I love this,” Alex said, watching his silver string catch some light. “Sorry if I was making fun.”

“Tie mine?” Julie asked Reggie.

“Yeah.” He quickly tied the ends together over her wrist, and the bracelet fell into place next to all of her other ones.

Luke was trying to tie his bracelet on himself, tugging on the end with his mouth. Julie tied Alex’s pink string bracelet next to his matching rainbow one.

“How come you don't have one?” Luke asked. He spat out the strings, having tightened his knot far enough.

Reggie shrugged, holding his flannel sleeve in his hands. “I don't know, I’m the one that made them.”

“That's ridiculous. You have to match,” said Julie. “We’ll make one.”

“I’ll help, if I can figure out how,” Luke volunteered.

“What colors do you want?” Alex asked. “No, wait, let me guess. Red.”

A smile broke across Reggie’s face, and he reached out to pull them all in for a hug.


End file.
